


Where the Birds and the Bees Wont Know Me

by babbyspanch



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Coming Out, Episode 35 ALT, Gen, M/M, Pining, Vulnerability, emotional honesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/pseuds/babbyspanch
Summary: Darryl sits. Darryl speaks. Darryl only does a bit of shaking.episode 35 alt where Darryl doesn’t eavesdrop, but he does stay nearby during Grants conversation with Yeet and starts to fully understand his impact on his sons life.
Relationships: Darryl Wilson & Grant Wilson, Henry Oak/Darryl Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 104





	Where the Birds and the Bees Wont Know Me

**Author's Note:**

> I literally paused as soon as the conversation between Yeet and Grant finished so please forgive any clumsiness or strangeness. I’ve been listening to this podcast for like three days straight and I’m TERRIFIED of what’s coming. So I wrote this as a dreamy resolution on a lot of things.
> 
> Hope you guys like it!!

Darryl sits heavily beside Grant on the steps, groaning the whole way down— his body still sore from the game, despite his hot shower. Grant's shoulders go stiff beside him and his back straightens, the bones snap into place, one two three. His posture is the best Darryl has ever seen it.

He lets out a big sigh and leans backward, resting his elbows on the step behind him and looks up to the stars. The clouds keep passing over them, gray and thick like someone stretching cotton batten over the glass of this world's snow globe.

His plan is to keep making dad noises until he's acknowledged.

He breathes out noisily through his nose.

“ _Hi_ , Dad.”

Darryl tucks his smile into his cheek, behind his beard and keeps his voice level. “Hi, Son. Something happen?”

“No. Nothing.” There’s some truth to that, Darryl can tell. He can taste the bitterness on the air, can almost feel the rumble of protectiveness in his chest in response. He's glad he came to check on him. Glad he lingered nearby just in case his son needed him.

He pauses a second, waiting to see if Grant will come out with it himself. The crickets sound as if they are roaring in the heavy silence.

“Where’s Yeet?” He asks, ignoring how his voice seemed to imitate Henry’s intonations for a moment. He pushes that one down with the rest of the things he won't look at. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Not here.” Grant says, bitten off— upset. The last of his words curl up in Grant's throat, get stuck there and snap when he keeps trying to push them out. Darryl slides an arm around the space behind his son who is working very hard at looking big and proud and full.

“Yeah.” Darryl nods.

They sit in silence and Grant’s tension does not ease.

Darryl thinks he’s a good dad.

Maybe not the _best_ dad, but a damn good one. 

He’s seen this boy through uncountable dinners, woken him up for school days with vigor and joy, read him bedtime stories and held him close in moments where he could feel cracks forming. He’s poured so much love and care and comfort and fierce protectiveness into this relationship and Grant…

Grant’s gone anyway. He’s checked out. Frozen up and decided his dad can’t be trusted.

He gives into the impulse to wrap the arm around Grant. To slide it close to his body and shake him a little, hopefully in a comforting way. Wants to hold him again in the ways he used to.

Grant is cold and still under the weight of his father's arm. Darryl tries so hard not to feel like he’s throwing himself against a wall again and again and again.

Payden’s words ring back to him. An eight year old could see things clearly here. He quietly picks out Henry’s words from where he buried them with the rest of the things he didn’t want to think about, sub-category: Henry Oak.

Vulnerability. Maybe there was a way to do this, to open up with emotional honesty and still have it be about Grant in some way. Darrell pulled at his beard and wrestled with the impulse.

He rolled low.

“The… um.” A long pause. A very long, dry pause. “The first time I thought…” That wasn’t right either. “My first ever date stood me up.”

Grant’s listening. His head is tilted in that particular way he does when he’s visually focusing on one thing, but the words are filtering through.

That somehow makes this easier. He hasn't ever told anyone this- let alone someone who, at least at one point, looked up to him. But maybe that's exactly _why_ he has to tell him.

So he does, story jerky and unpolished and raw but very, very real. 

“It… I hadn’t been super clear about it. Never called it a date. I was young. Younger than you. Just knew I wanted to spend time with them. So I asked about going somewhere. A park they liked.” Darrell pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't keep avoiding it. Talking around it. Couldn't keep carrying this heavy and stupid shame. “I packed so many things. A duffle bag the size of _me_ full of toys for the sandpit, a kite I had made, some juice I had mixed together with probably too much sugar. Slingshots. A football. I knew he loved playing football.”

Grant’s head whips around, eyes fixed on the side of Darryl’s face, mouth hanging open. Darryl takes a moment to breathe out slowly.

“He never showed. I waited for _hours_. The sun had set and the moon was high by the time I finally packed back up and hiked home. I missed dinner. Week after that I met your mother and I convinced myself it didn’t matter anymore. But that week… That was a hard week.” He finally turns to face Grant, who is still gaping at him— curious and confrontational and relieved and five hundred other things mixed together on his face, “I felt so sad I faked sick for two days before my dad kicked my ass back to school.”

“Dad…” 

Darryl smiles, hearing something new in his kids voice. Or maybe something old. His eyes fly back up to the stars. So different from the one’s he had waited under, hoping and praying; bargaining and begging.

“I haven’t thought about that in years and years and— Maybe I haven’t _let_ myself think about it in that long. But seeing you sitting here in the dark…” He trails off. “It reminded me.”

He lowers his gaze back down to solid ground, reels himself back out of his memories, and Grant is crying. They are silent tears, and they are streaming down his face, pouring forth like someone hadn't turned the faucet all the way closed. 

“Oh, hey kiddo— shoot.” Darryl doesn’t even hesitate before wrapping Grant up in a tight warm hug, hand stroking the back of his son's head. “I didn’t mean— Henry just said I should maybe try opening up— you’re gonna have to blame him for this I didn’t mean to upset you— fucking Henry, I shouldn’t have listened—“

And then Grant is wrapping his arms around him too, and he starts to sob. 

Starts to heave great gasping breaths and clutches at Darryl’s shirt, hands twisted in it as his pain pours out into the night air. It’s harsh and vibrant and full of an honest ache and it creeps closer and louder as his body trembles and the walls _break_. 

And Darryl cries with him. Holds him tight and lets his grief crash down over his head. The two men sit on the steps of the colosseum grief cresting over them both. Finally, finding a port in the storm with each other.

It lasts and lasts and then it’s done. The tears all spilled and the tension wept out. Grant draws back and Darryl catches his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry. For making you fight that thing— for turning you into a _weapon_ and for teaching you the wrong lessons about vulnerability and—“

But then Grant smiles and Darryl’s apologies dry up. He hasn’t seen that smile in years. It’s open and real and it clears Darryl’s eyes to just how many layers of years and dirt and hiding his son’s smile held before.

“Oh, my beautiful boy.” He whispers, not even hearing himself. Grant grabs the hand cradling his cheek and the laugh he lets out is snotty and gross and the most wonderful thing Darryl has ever heard.

They sit there for a while, falling out of the hug at some point but leaning on each other, keeping each other warm.

“Yeet wants to be friends.” Grant says, some time later. “I asked to… I asked to kiss him but he wants to be friends.”

Darryl shakes his head. “Horrible taste. Did you see those jerseys?” He waits on the joke a second before trying again. “‘Friends’ is important too.” He says, voice soft and low. “Friends… Sometimes help out more and… support you more. Maybe even love you more— in their own way.”

Darryl pushes a hand through his hair, rolls his shoulders. _Remember vulnerability_. “I’ve not had a lot of friends. Mostly it’s been me and your mom. But now…” He grins ruefully. “For better or for worse… We have a pack of them, here. And they… Your mother is wonderful. You know that- she works so hard and does her best to see things from all sides and trusts people and—“

He pauses. Resentment and sadness were building in his chest and he lets it drift off slowly. He was right earlier. The divorce wasn’t something to talk about with his son while Carole wasn’t there. It was unfair. So instead he says, “But those idiots in there… It’s completely different. I… I love them. And they have been the only reason I could get back to you. I owe them thousand times over.”

Darryl smiles, taking in his son’s face. He had spent so many nights looking up at the ceiling of whatever inn they had rolled into and trying to remember exactly the way Grant’s hair fell, the way his eyebrow furrowed or how he bit at the inside of his cheek when he was put out. And now he was here with him. And Darryl finally didn’t have to try and rely on his awful memory anymore.

“The point is. A friend like Yeet seems like a good friend to have.”

Grant nods, playing with his fingers. He cracks one of his knuckles idly.

“Careful with that— causes arthritis.”

Grant snorts and rubs his face. “I guess if we get home it won't really matter, anyway. Killa’s here and Yeet would want to stay with his sister.”

“Yeah, champ. You’re probably right.” Grant rolls his eyes but stays relaxed against Darryls side.

They fall into quiet again. It’s amazing how different silence can sound. How deeply it can hold the feelings of people and change to fit.

His silences with the other dads had started out so stilted and uncomfortable. Had started feeling fuller and warmer the longer they were together and the more atrocities they committed. 

“So you're… Not straight.” Grant says, hesitant and nervous to ask, still thrown.

Darryl winces a little. “Well. I. I don't know about that-?”

“You liked a boy.” Grants says, firm.

“Yes. I liked a boy. And…” Vulnerable. Open. Honest. “And he wasn't the only boy I've ever… been attracted to. I suppose.”

Grant nods, looking and watching. Seemingly waiting for something.

“I don't know, you kids have all these fancy terms and so many flags and labels and choices and--” His words come pouring out, his overwhelm and fear creeping through.

“Well you don't have to pick one if you don't want to, Dad.”

Darryl looks up quickly, frowning. “What? Isn't that part of it? You have to decide what bumper sticker and what shirts to wear at those parades and what to come out to people as and--”

“You don't have to do any of that.” Grant laughs. He shrugs. “You just have to find where you're comfortable. Which can be defined and out and at pride or it can be just... Something you know about yourself. And other people who are important to you also know, if you want to tell them.”

Darryl blinks. “Huh.”

Grant smiles, soft and happy. “Thank you for telling me, dad.”

Darryl shrugs his shoulder up and down, unable to fight the grin off his face. “Of course, Grant. I love you.”

Grant rolls his eyes but flops onto Darryl's chest and mumbles, “Yeah. Love you too.”

They sit there under the stars and Darryl doesn't feel like he's waiting anymore. He feels like whatever he was waiting for has arrived.

A throat clears behind them and they both jump. Grant even lets out a little yelp. Seeing his reaction helped solidify the shift in Darryl's mind. That sound wouldn't have been allowed to escape even a few hours ago.

He looks over to see Henry standing in the doorway of the Colosseum.

“Hey.” Darryl says, trying to sound level. Grant has relaxed beside him, seeing it wasn't a threat.

“Hey.” Henry says, warmer than Darryl was expecting, given their latest argument. The other dad is looking fondly between the two of them. It pricks something in Darryl's chest and he holds it a moment this time, before placing it beside the other items filed under Henry Oak. Doesn't bother burying it this time. “It was getting late! Wanted to check in… see if you two had been snatched up by evil grandads and we had to mount another rescue mission.”

Henry's smile is joking but the concern is clear in the wrinkles around his eyes.

“Nah.” Darryl says, standing with a grunt and brushing off the dust on his pants with a few solid pats. “We're fine. Just talking.” He pauses. Debates. And then says, “Vulnerably.”

“Ah!” Henry's eyebrows shoot up and he clasps his hands together, “Oh, wow that's--! That's so great! I'm glad--” He freezes. “Oof, I'm interrupting aren't I. Sorry, sorry I'll just--” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder, back to the locker rooms.

“No!” Grant says loudly. Darryl blinks and turns to look at him. Grant has his hands in fists, is blushing a little and looking between the two dads quickly. “I uh. I just mean we're all done for tonight. Thanks for checking on us.”

Darryl smiles. Grant smiles back, before his eyes flick between them again. “I'm going to head to bed. Maybe check and see if Ron raided the entire vending machine or not.”

“Nice! Use some of the hot dog money.” Darryl suggests, thumping Grant on the shoulder. Grant grins even as the air is pushed out of him from the force.

“Yeah, okay.” He laughs. “Have a good night.”

“See you tomorrow bright and early for drills.” Darryl beams.

Grant groans but doesn't lose the smile once as he heads back inside.

Darryl can still feel his beam stretching his cheeks.

Henry comes down a few steps to stand beside him. “That went well- huh?”

Darryl nods and looks back up at the stars. Henry’s body heat is different from his sons. There's the same closeness and warmth but… The tension from the last while still sat there, wound tight under it all. Even now it was hard to not feel like Henry was coming to gloat, coming to wave his ‘I was right’ flag, as he so often did. 

But then he remembered the warmth he had looked at Grant with. Remembered the real concern in his voice when he had tried to talk about the situation earlier.

He let some of the long buried thoughts float up, and found he wasn't as suspicious and self conscious any more.

“I tried the vulnerable thing. You were right.” He doesn't drag his eyes from the sky. Beside him, Henry doesn't either.

“I'm really glad, you know. Genuinely, I'm so happy for you two.”

Darryl hears the honesty and the warmth and doesn't run from it, doesn't try to scream it into submission or what it does to his heart.

“Yeah. Me too. Thank you for your help.”

Henry starts a little beside him, surprised. “Oh, well. I. Was coming out here to apologize, actually. I know I can be… hard headed and a little sanctimonious and…” Henry trails off and then carefully presses his shoulder against Darryl's. 

A warm line of heat traces up where they are pressed together, however briefly. It lights in his cheeks and glows there.

“I just wanted to say you're a _great_ dad. And I never meant to say otherwise. There's things I think I could learn from you. Especially for Lark and Sparrow. I'm too lax with them, I do _know_ that. But i just--”

“Hey, Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They stay outside a little longer, looking up at stars so different than their own and they let the warm silence settle around them and their thoughts ebb and flow. 

And Darryl doesn't bury any of them.


End file.
